


To Miss New Orleans

by RisenHunterFallenAngel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, College Student Castiel, College Student Dean, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Dorks in Love, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Human Castiel, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Moving In Together, New Orleans, Reunion Sex, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 08:19:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6416017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RisenHunterFallenAngel/pseuds/RisenHunterFallenAngel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Cas decide to move in together for their junior year, and while he's been looking forward to it all summer, upon returning to New Orleans and seeing the apartment Cas has chosen for them, his enthusiasm comes to a screeching halt. His boyfriend is evidently the world's worst house hunter: the apartment is decrepit, outdated, and absolutely teeming with shortcomings, so Dean's none too enthused by the prospect of having to live in it for a year. He's also more than a little apprehensive about trusting Cas to make important decisions again. </p><p>Cas convinces Dean that he's full of good ideas. </p><p>Title and story loosely inspired by Louis Armstrong's "Do You Know What it Means to Miss New Orleans?".</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Miss New Orleans

Cas is never again allowed to make important decisions, Dean resolves, heaving the last box of his boyfriend’s books up the final, narrow flight of stairs to their apartment's landing. The prospect of getting out of student housing for their junior year and finally living together had been nothing if not appealing when Cas first proposed it at the end of their sophomore year, in the aftermath of a particularly enthusiastic round of sex, their spent bodies intertwined uncomfortably on Dean's unaccommodating twin-sized dorm mattress. They ought to find a place of their own, Cas had reasoned, where they could focus on one another without the distraction of roommates, the nuisances of conflicting schedules or commute logistics, and the bother of allotting time to for one another when they’d rather all of their spare moments be consecrated to each other by default. Dean wanted all of that, three months prior, and God does he still, but he sure as hell doesn’t want it in this apartment, with its exposed pipes and crackling paint and warped panes of glass and uneven wooden floors, scuffed from a century of its inhabitants’ footfalls. Cas had been overjoyed when he saw the listing for the place online, voice absolutely brimming with euphoria when he Skyped Dean to tell him he’d found the perfect place in the heart of the French Quarter, full of what he called “historical charm.” 

 

Dean calls it a pain in the ass. He’s a simple man, with simple tastes, but goddamn it, he doesn’t think he’s asking for much in expecting standard amenities like a dishwasher so he doesn’t attract ants when he neglects to clean up after himself, or functional AC so he doesn’t die of heat stroke in the hot Louisiana summer, or a washing machine so he doesn’t need to go to the laundromat three blocks down in order to have clean briefs. Oh, or a goddamn elevator, so he doesn’t have to carry six fucking boxes overflowing with art history books up to their 5th floor apartment after a morning of hauling clothes, furniture, and records up just as many flights of stairs. 

 

So the succinct conclusion to be drawn from this experience is that Cas is no longer allowed to settle important affairs, and Dean is definitely charge of choosing their next apartment. It’ll probably be much smaller, further from the city center, and rent will be a helluva lot more expensive, but at least it will have been built in the last twenty years. Consequently, it'll have a reliable air con unit, or at the very least, one that doesn’t come from the dark ages and that he can probably fix himself; it’ll have an underground car park, so Baby isn’t living on the side of the road, exposed to the elements; and it’ll have clean, finished ceilings that don’t look as though they’re on the verge of collapse. If nothing else, it’ll have a fucking elevator.

 

It’s only his first day back in New Orleans, and frankly, he’s not entirely convinced leaving the comfort of his parents’ suburban Kansas home was worth this. 

 

Entering the godforsaken apartment for what he hopes is the final instance of the day, Dean kicks the door shut behind himself. At least, he tries to. It creaks open defiantly not a second later. The frame has settled, gone crooked with age, and thus the door must be forcibly jammed in order to remain shut. It takes Dean three more tries to get the door to cooperate, and once he succeeds, he considers asking Cas if they can get rid of it all together. Hell, they could replace it with a beaded curtain or something - as a safety precaution it would hardly be less effective than a door that doesn’t close. He refrains from voicing the snide remark though, because they haven't seen one another since May, and he's not going to set the tone for their first year of cohabitation by intentionally antagonizing his boyfriend. Cas has been beaming all day, despite the sweat-inducing, stifling heat; the physical exhaustion of the move; the stagnant dust hanging in the air of their old, rickety abode; the janky scents of salt, stale liquor, mold, and raw seafood wafting up from the streets. Despite it all, he’s been shooting Dean these sappy, gummy smiles all day, planting quick pecks on his cheek whenever they crossed paths, staring at him with bright, optimistic eyes. He  _ whistled  _ happily as set about giving the bathroom a thorough clean while Dean dealt with most of the literal heavy lifting, and Hell, if the too-obvious shortcomings of their housing situation haven’t managed to break his spirit, Dean isn’t gonna be the one to do it in. 

 

That being said, even if he did feel inclined to express his dissatisfaction with Cas’s sub-par apartment selection, it's not as though his comments would be noticed. Cas has been painting for the past several hours, and while rolling brushes are not quite as refined as the delicate mongoose or camel or whatever-fucking-animal hair ones he uses for his portfolio pieces, he’s treating the process of painting the walls as an art anyhow - his concentration from the task cannot be shaken from direct address alone. The only fault Cas could find in the apartment (from the myriad of problems Dean observed) was the color of the living room’s walls. They were a murky, muted grey, almost oppressive in their dull, spartan mundanity, so he decided to paint them white. Their new bright facade, combined with the light streaming in through the wide bay windows, give the room an endless, unearthly glow. Cas is standing at the center of the ethereal lustre, holey jeans slung low on his hips, Dean’s old Zeppelin tee hanging loose off his sturdy, angular frame. The thin material flutters due to a breeze passing through the open windows, the only indication that he hasn't assumed a wholly homeostatic state of being save for the way his lips form around the words of the Louis Armstrong record playing from the corner of the room. He’s scrutinizing his work, unblinking, jaw set with conviction as that brilliant brain of his considers whether or not another coat of paint is in order. 

 

Christ, he’s beautiful. 

 

Dean immediately regrets harboring any kind of ill-feeling towards New Orleans. For New Orleans is where he gets to be with Cas, and if part being with Cas means going a year without luxury appliances and unscathed floorboards and functional doors, then so be it. He can suck it up. Having Cas and a decent living space aren’t mutually exclusive, but if his acquisition of both is to be delayed, he’s happy it’s Cas he gets from the start. 

 

For now, it’s enough. 

 

Well,  _ nearly _ \- Dean thinks it’s due time they make use of their bed, and perhaps then he’ll be satiated. He crosses over to Cas’s stoic form, hooking his thumbs through his belt loops to pull their bodies flush together. “I missed you so goddamn much,” Dean confesses, probably for the 8th time today, but this time the words are pressed into the skin at the juncture of Cas’s neck and shoulder, the implied remedy to his long-sufferance abundantly clear. 

 

Cas gives a shiver, attempts to disguise it with a throaty laugh, head tilting back to bare more skin. “Is that so?”

 

Dean bites at Cas’s collar bone, laves over the reddening flesh with his tongue. “The paint fumes must be doin’ a number on you, sweetheart. Of course it’s fucking so.”

 

Cas relaxes and melts into Dean’s touch. His own fingers walk up Dean’s spine to the nape of his neck. “Good. I missed you, too.”

 

Dean’s fingers dip under the hem of Cas’s shirt to skirt over the toned muscles of his stomach. “That so?” He echoes, question punctuated with a nip to Cas’s earlobe. 

 

“No. Not particularly, come to think of it,” Cas replies, corners of his lips turned up smugly. 

 

Dean steps away from Cas brusquely, mouth slack from exaggerated shock. “You’re an asshole,” he declares, but the assertion goes unheard, masked by Cas’s bark of laughter. “Honestly, I’m regretting this already. I don’t know why I keep you,” he tries instead. 

 

“I like to think it’s because I’m dynamite in bed,” Cas shrugs. 

 

He’s not wrong. 

 

“I dunno,” Dean lies, stepping towards Cas again, settling a hand on his waist, “It’s been so long. I think you’ll have to prove yourself, Novak.” He guides Cas backwards, crowds him against a freshly-painted wall. Cas tries to protest, but before he can do so Dean’s lips are on his, and a moan tumbles out of his mouth in lieu of a scolding. 

 

The wall will need to be repainted, Cas knows, his shirt will need to be thrown out, and it’ll take days for all the paint to be washed out of his hair, but he can’t find it in himself to mind, not when he has his hands full of Dean Winchester for the first time in months. “My shirt is ruined,” he complains nevertheless, the claim swallowed by Dean’s mouth. 

 

“It’s mine,” Dean mumbles, fingers dipping beneath the hem once more, thumb rubbing a circle against Cas’s hipbone. 

 

“You gave it to me,” Cas insists, whatever conviction he laced the statement with lost in an involuntary shudder. 

 

Dean pulls away from Cas with a tug to his bottom lip swollen bottom lip. “I’ll buy you a new one,” he promises absentmindedly, far more concerned with pulling the garment off of Cas and tossing it to the floor. 

 

“Don’t bother,” Cas assures, “I’ll just even the playing field.” He grasps Dean’s bicep with a paint-covered hand to steady himself as he stands on his toes to meet Dean’s lips, leaving a print behind when his grip relaxes. 

 

“You son of a bitch,” Dean growls, but he’s smiling when he leans in for another searing kiss. “I love this shirt.” 

 

“I don’t,” Cas says, cupping Dean’s jaw with his hand, streaking it with paint. “You’re far more becoming without it.”

 

“It’s a shame I’m still wearing it then, ain’t it?” Dean notes, trailing his tongue down the line of Cas’s neck. 

 

“Shame indeed,” Cas affirms, statement hinged on a gasp when Dean’s tongue circles around his nipple.   

 

“What are you gonna do about it?” Dean questions, peering up at him as he continues his ministrations. 

 

Cas places a hand on Dean’s shoulder, cards the other through his hair. Dean, on instinct, prepares to drop to his knees, but Cas pushes him away, not down. “Nothing,” he answers, stepping away from the wall and in the direction of the kitchen. “Well, not until you fuck me against the counter,” he says with a wink. Dean’s knees almost do give out at that. “Then I’ll use it to wipe up our mess,” Cas concludes. 

 

Which, yeah, okay, that works alright for Dean. Desecrating the kitchen is hardly a proposition he’s averse to. 

 

Nor is christening the bathroom and subsequently breaking in their new mattress, also upon Cas’s insistence.

 

It doesn't take too long for Dean to realize he’s not remotely opposed to letting Cas call the shots after all. 

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can also find me on tumblr as risenhunterfallenangel, if you feel so inclined.


End file.
